


so many birthdays (that I missed)

by tofiveohfive



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 02:46:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofiveohfive/pseuds/tofiveohfive
Summary: Louis doesn’t know nearly enough about science and the cosmos to explain how every atom in his being stands to attention; how his body immediatelyknowswho he’s bumped into.It’s somewhat underwhelming when the first word he hears out of Harry’s mouth after twelve months is, “Oh.”AU inspired by Julia Michaels’ Into You





	so many birthdays (that I missed)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just gonna say it: i'm a one-trick pony. here i am, with yet another breakup au. i'm sorry & i promise i'll try to write something different next time. 
> 
> if we're being honest, this is far from my best work. however, i dealt with a nasty case of writer's block the last few months, so i'm just happy i was able to write anything at all lmao. additionally, i'm deeply sorry for the inconsistencies when it comes to their britishness (hmu if you're a britpicker!).
> 
> thank you [britt](http://thepeacering.tumblr.com), for being the best beta a girl could ever ask for. your endless patience never seizes to amaze me. also thank you [amber](http://behisbest.tumblr.com) for sending me the song. as usual, this is entirely your fault. lastly, all my love to [nicolle](https://anchortatt.tumblr.com/), the cutest little beagle out there!
> 
> if you're one of those people who, like me, enjoys listening to music while going through fics, i strongly suggest listening to **julia michaels' into you** while reading this.
> 
> if you notice any mistakes, please let me know.  
> enjoy!

_where are u_ (11:06 pm ✔✔)

 _louis_ (11:24 pm ✔✔)

 _answer me tommo_ (11:26 pm ✔✔)

 _u better be losing ur shit in the parking lot_ (11:43 pm ✔✔)

 _or im driving to ur flat and dragging u here_ _right now_ (11:43 pm ✔✔)

Louis stubs out his cigarette. After four of these, he’s finally willing to admit that they’re not gonna be his saving grace tonight. No obscenely high amount of nicotine is gonna be able to get rid of the shaking in his hands.

 _u’ll be happy to know that i am indeed in the parking lot_ (11:49 pm ✓✓)

 _asshole_ (11:49 pm ✓✓)

He doesn’t have to wait long to see Zayn emerging from the pub’s door, hugging his leather jacket closer to his body to protect himself from the cold.

“You know it only works if you get in, right?” Zayn says as soon as he’s close enough for his accent to carry over the wind.

Despite his previous thought, Louis very much feels like lighting another cigarette. Just so he has something to do with the drumming energy he feels under his skin. Just so he doesn’t have to meet Zayn’s stare.

“I do know, yes.”

Zayn comes closer, leaning against the closed driver’s door, next to Louis. “Niall’s been asking about you.”

“ _Zayn_ ,” Louis emphasizes. “I know.” He feels his temper rising in response to Zayn’s exasperated sigh. “I fucking came, didn’t I?”

“It’s just that—” Zayn raises both hands in frustration. “It’s just Harry, you know?”

It’s not even a conscious decision when Louis glares at him. Zayn clearly has no grasp of reality if he thinks Harry is _just_ anything.

He seems to take note of his mistake soon enough. “That was messed up. Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” Zayn takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. Louis would feel bad for his obvious unsettledness, if he weren’t feeling like human garbage himself.

Louis says to hell with it and reaches inside his jeans pocket, grabbing one more cigarette.

“How many of those have you smoked already?”

“Not enough,” Louis mutters around the cig, efficiently lighting it inside of his shirt.

If Louis is being fair, Zayn’s patience while he waits for him to get his shit together is pretty admirable. After a couple hits, Louis finally asks, “Is he alone?”

Zayn looks at him like that’s a stupid question. “ _Yes_ , he’s alone.”

It’s not a stupid question, and Louis wouldn’t touch his heart’s reaction to Zayn’s answer with a ten foot pole. He’s not going anywhere near the Harry fraction of his brain tonight. Not anywhere nearer than he already _has_ , that is.

Damm it. He’s already floundering.

“Lou, I don’t want to be an ass,” Zayn tries again. “But if you want Niall to actually _remember_ you came…”

“I…” Louis takes a deep drag from cigarette. “You can go ahead, I’ll meet you there.” To his credit, Zayn looks like he’s trying _really hard_ to believe in Louis. “I will, Z. I promise. I just don’t want it to look like I needed a babysitter to come pick me up.”

That earns him a smirk. “Even though that’s exactly what happened?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis curses good naturedly, putting out his smoke.

“Alright, man. I’ll see you inside.” To Louis’ surprise, Zayn comes even closer, throwing an arm around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, yeah? Just cough or something. Wink. Whatever.” He pulls back with a smile, his tongue behind his teeth in the most annoyingly endearing way. “We should probably agree on a signal, now that I think of it.”

Louis snorts. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you. I appreciate it.” Zayn raises an eyebrow. “ _Really_.”

“Okay, if you say so…” Zayn raises both hands in surrender, already turning around to head back inside. “If I don’t see you in ten minutes, I’m telling Harry that Stevie Nicks is in the parking lot,” he throws over his shoulder.

Zayn is already halfway inside the door when Louis screams, “Fuck you!”

All jokes aside, Louis feels like throwing up.

Now that he’s alone again, he can put down the collected facade and give in to his demons. The truth is that he has no idea how he’s going to get through tonight. Over the past year, he’s missed countless birthdays, three or four nights out with the lads and a New Year’s Eve party. He wishes he could say that he’s had a good reason for it, that Harry had done something to justify Louis’ trepidation. He wishes he could tell Zayn — and everyone else who has questioned him about it — that they’ve had this big, angry brawl and that’s why they absolutely can’t be in the same room anymore.

The problem, though, is that things are _fine_. Their breakup had been _fine_. When Harry had came back to pick up his stuff, they’d talked about how _fine_ the weather was and when Harry asked how Louis had been holding up, he said he’d been holding up just _fine_.

Everything is so damn _fine_.

And that’s what makes Louis’ life even harder. How can he put into words the feeling of having his insides melting into hot lava at the mere mention of Harry’s name? How could he possibly explain that being around Harry makes his throat close up, even though Harry is still his favorite person?

His _person_ , period.

The bottom line is that Louis doesn’t have a good enough reason, he only has the truth. He can’t be around Harry because things hadn’t worked out the way his heart wanted them to and his heart still hasn’t healed from the blow yet.

However, tonight is different. Tonight is Niall’s farewell party. After working sixty hours a week for two years, he’s finally being promoted to chief executive — of the London office. So, for the first time in a long while, something _finally_ seems bigger and more important than the devastating heartbreak of being in the same room as Harry.

That’s what Louis incessantly tells himself as he steps inside the pub, fingers twitching anxiously in the pockets of his jacket.

Niall is not hard to find. As soon as Louis’ ears get used to the sound of clinking bottles and loud music, it’s easy to identify the booming laughter coming from one of the tables on the left.

Louis feels his whole body relax in response to his friend’s contagious happiness. From his place still a couple feet away from their table, Louis can see that Niall’s got an arm around Liam’s shoulder, both of them laughing so hard their eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks flushed. Lost in his own delight, Niall spills some of his beer on the boy to his right — his date, by the looks of it — who squeaks in shock, earning a new round of laughter across the table.

Louis chuckles under his breath. He can’t believe he’s deprived himself of this for so long. The fact that he doesn’t even know the name of Niall’s date makes him feel like a jerk. One of his best friends is moving to the other side of the country and all Louis has to say about their last months living in the same city is that he’s stood him up more than a dozen times — having quickly and efficiently become the worst best friend known by mankind.

He doesn’t have too long to dwell in his own stupidity. It’s when he’s walking towards his friends’ table that someone runs into him.

Louis doesn’t know nearly enough about science and the cosmos to explain how every atom in his being stands to attention; how his body immediately _knows_ who he’s bumped into.

It’s somewhat underwhelming when the first word he hears out of Harry’s mouth after twelve months is, “Oh.”

In case anyone cares about Louis’ opinion, he thinks fate is a real sick bastard. Ten minutes. Couldn’t he have had ten _fucking_ minutes of peace with his boys before the shitstorm hit? Hell, he’d have been happy with five minutes, even.

Apparently not. The master of the universe has decided that Louis doesn’t get any rewards for being a giant coward. Instead, he’s punished with his ex-boyfriend running _right into him_ as soon as they’re within the same few square feet.

To make matters worse, Harry decides he wants to try his hand at small talk. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he starts, stiffly polite and oblivious to the world falling apart around them. “It’s been a while since—” Louis can’t breathe. “I mean, you haven’t been around much,” Harry complements the disaster with an awkward chuckle at the end.

See, this, _this_ right here is the nightmare Louis had tried to avoid at all costs. Somewhere in a detached corner of his brain, he wishes that he could record this pathetic attempt at conversation and mail a copy to every single one of their friends. ( _Dear Zayn, this is what happens when_ just Harry _and I share the same room nowadays. From this moment forward, kindly fuck off. Love, Louis._ )

He’s brought back to the fiasco at hand by Harry coughing into his fist.

Right. It’s actually happening this time. It’s not another one of those scenarios Louis’ mind made up when the absence of Harry got to be too much.

He knows better than to attribute his absenteeism to something trivial, such as “too much work” or “feeling under the weather”. That would be a waste of both his and Harry’s time and energy. Besides, he thinks Harry deserves more credit than that — after speaking fluent Louis for so long, he has no doubt that Harry would see right through his excuses.

At last, Louis shrugs, ignoring Harry’s thinly veiled inquiry. “Yeah, but now Niall is—”

“Leaving, yeah.” Harry finishes his sentence. Louis knows that’s just another sign of Harry’s own uneasiness, but it’s _annoying_. “Crazy, innit? To think that he won’t be just a few blocks over when you wanna have a chat or something.”

Despite his every thought this evening, it hits Louis like a brick wall. It isn’t a new feeling, not having Niall around. He’s already used to missing him. It’s with a sick kind of amusement that Louis realizes — in the custody battle for their many friends in common, Louis had lost Niall. Not _lost,_ in the sense of picking sides and not being friends anymore, but meaning that he hasn’t felt comfortable just dropping by Niall’s place in months.

Not with the possibility of Harry _also_ dropping by whenever _he_ felt like it.

“Right,” Louis nods distractedly. “Uh, I should… I only got here, so I’m just gonna head over there,” he points to the table he was originally heading towards.

“Oh, of course!” Harry says, flustered. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

 _Ha_. Louis almost laughs out loud at the irony of that statement.

“No problem.” He gives Harry a fake half-smile. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He receives a fake half-smile back. “See you.”

With awkwardness climbing its way up his spine, he passes by Harry — doing his absolute best not to touch him, despite how crowded the pub is.

His mind is still reeling when Niall notices him approaching. “Christ on a cracker! I think I just saw a ghost!”

“Ha ha,” Louis replies in his best emotionless tone. “Hello to you too, you irish prick.”

“Come over here!” Niall gets up on unsteady legs, letting go of his pint to extend both arms towards Louis. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” When they’re close enough to touch, Niall grabs Louis’ face in both hands and pretends to inspect it. “I’m not sure about the eyes. They seem quite dead do me. Are you sure you’re not an hologram?”

Louis snorts and pushes him away. “I don’t think it would possible for you to touch my face like that if I were a hologram, Horan,” he jokes. “But it’s good to know you’ve missed me.”

Niall’s unabashed grin shallows into a sober smile. “That I did.” Apparently over all the jokes, Niall finally pulls him into a tight hug. “That I did, Tommo.”

Louis swallows down the bitter taste of remorse. He buries his face into Niall’s neck and wraps both arms tightly around his friend’s waist. “Sorry I’ve been such a wanker.”

“Nonsense.” Niall dismisses. “I’m happy you’re here. It means a lot.”

“I fucked up. We’ve barely seen each other these past couple months and now you’re moving.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Niall admonishes. “I’m moving, I’m not dying. You can make up to me by driving down to London for the housewarming party.”

Louis pulls back from their hug to make a face. “When did you become this person who throws housewarming parties?”

Niall cackles. “Let’s just say you missed a _lot_ while you were sulking.”

That lights a spark in Louis’ mind and he’s reminded of the brunette he’d saw sitting next to Niall moments earlier. Looking around now, he finds the guy talking excitedly with Zayn, face split in laughter. “You gotta tell me about _that_.”

Niall’s eyes follow Louis’ words and the way his friend softens at the sight tells Louis everything he needs to know. “I’m happy for you, Nialler,” he says sincerely, squeezing Niall’s shoulders. “You deserve all the good things happening to you right now.”

That brings Niall’s attention back to him. “You deserve good things, too, Lou.”

He — thankfully — doesn’t have time to answer before he sees Liam approaching with glazed over eyes and an easy smile. “Tommo.”

“Hey, Payno,” Louis moves from one hug to another, finding comfort in the smell of Liam’s usual cologne. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Missed you. How are you holding up?”

Louis can’t find it within himself to be bothered by the way his friends are walking on eggshells around him. He’s gotten used to isolation and independency, so the change is very much welcomed.

“I’m okay. Classes started again last week and the new kids are nice enough. No one has thrown a tantrum over my evaluation system yet.”

“Well, it’s still early in the semester,” Liam jokes. “There’s plenty of time for that later.”

Louis makes a face. “No, Liam. That’s the wrong answer. I want you to tell me they’ll love me till the end of term.”

It feels good, being surrounded by his boys again, especially when they’re soon joined by Zayn, who throws an arm over Louis’ shoulder and silently offers him a beer. Louis could dare say it even feels like home — the warmth in their laughter, their easy intimacy, the lightness in his chest — but he knows that’s not right. This is great, but it’s not _home_. Their home has always been made of five people and one of them is currently missing.

Louis doesn’t know if it’s just him, but Harry’s absence in the circle seems to stand out like a sore thumb. A metaphorical and physical gap by Louis’ right — one that Niall tries to cover for when he notices the empty space, stepping closer and making their circle even smaller.

It’s useless, though, because the void is still _painfully_ there. When Liam makes a comment about how “fruity drinks are for lightweights”, there’s a glaring lack of offended monotone reply. When Zayn starts throwing some clumsy moves after drinking his fair share of jägerbombs, they all know who’d be the one shameless enough to join him.

Louis worries they’re approaching another one of these uncomfortable moments, because Niall is excitedly telling his work friends about the time he went to a bikers bar in London, and they all know how _that_ story ends: he lost an arm wrestling match against a giant biker, which, according to the bar’s rules, entailed in getting a so-called “loser tattoo”. Seeing as Niall has crippling fear of needles, Harry volunteered to get the tattoo in his place.

However, before Niall is done telling the story, something much more awkward happens: Harry _joins_ them.

Louis is aware that he should count himself lucky for all the Harry-free time he’s already scored tonight. He knows it’s only fair that Harry spends some time with Niall as well, but that doesn’t make him any less weary when Harry sits at their table at half past one in the morning — holding an unexpected glass of whiskey.

Harry is not a whiskey kind of person.

Even though he feels off balance himself, Louis still recognizes the signs of drunk-Harry. The way he drops himself into the chair, whole body sagging as soon as he’s seated. The way he keeps picking at his bottom lip, staring absentmindedly at nothing and regaining focus only long enough to let out a half-hearted chuckle. The way his glazed green eyes unabashedly linger on Louis’, despite the unspoken rule that they should avoid any eye contact at all.

Louis is having a hard time understanding how the night is playing out. When, amidst a minor breakdown and after a couple bottles of beer, he’d tried to imagine how tonight would go, he’d been certain that _he_ would be the outcast; _he_ would be the one drinking whiskey and feeling out of place among all the friends he hadn’t seen in months. This inversion of roles is disconcerting and Louis is not sure he likes it.

He doesn’t have long to dwell on it, though, because really weird shit start happening.

First, Harry buys him a beer.

It happens when Louis is distracted, having finally been introduced to Niall’s date (“This is Shawn,” Niall had said, with the most stupid lovestruck look on his face). He’s just started telling Shawn about Niall’s Disney movie collection when Harry appears, holding something that looks like gin and tonic in one hand and a pint of Lager in the other. Louis’ chin almost hits the floor when Harry offers him the beer.

For one horrifying, suffocating moment, no one says anything. No one _moves_. It’s like all the air inside of the pub has been sucked into a void. Louis stares dumbly at the glass being offered, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wonders if he somehow managed to get himself sent back in time — to a year ago — when things like that used to happen. When this was his _normal_.

Louis comes back to himself when he hears someone clearing their throat. Looking up, he notices everyone watching the scene with varying degrees of puzzlement, Zayn seemingly the most perplexed one and Liam a few steps closer than before, almost like he was about to intervene but thought better of it. What catches Louis’ attention, however, is the tender sympathy on Niall’s face. When he follows his friend’s gaze, Louis finally looks up at Harry.

For all intents and purposes, Harry looks like he’s trying really hard to keep himself together. He’s obviously inebriated and the stubborn determination in his expression reminds Louis of the time when they’d tried to install the kitchen cabinets together. Back then, their packages had arrived missing a few essential clamps and screws, but, still, Harry had stayed up till two in the morning, trying to put together the damn thing out of sheer bullheadedness.

A knot unties itself in Louis’ brain and he wonders if he hit close to home. Is this Harry’s idea of fixing them? Some kind of olive branch? Louis is afraid to read too much into it, but he’s also afraid of reading _too little_ into it. How does this work? If accepts the beer, does it mean they have to _talk_? What would they even talk about? They’d tried walking down the small talk road and it had been catastrophic, to say the least.

 _It’s something_ , the less cynical share of his brain supplies. _Take it_.

Trying to keep his hand steady — in spite of his own drunkenness and jitters — Louis reaches out to take the pint. He holds back a snort when he hears his friends taking a collective relieved breath.

Harry’s reaction is less funny and more sobering. Even though his stance doesn’t change at first, his eyes lose all the steely courage, giving way to a soft vulnerability. Louis watches as the muscles in his face relax, granting passage to a timid smile. Even the dimple makes an appearance. And that’s— That’s _scary_. That path leads to hope.

“Uh, thanks,” Louis deliberates his next word. “Harry. Thanks, Harry.”

It’s stupid. In reality, Louis _knows_ it’s stupid. It’s a small thing, he’s not even sure Harry will notice, but right now it’s the best defense mechanism he’s got. The thing is, Louis never used to call Harry by his name. When they were arguing, sure, and maybe the first time Harry’s mom had invited him for dinner, but that was it. Any other time, it was H. Haz. Hazza. Styles, when they were bickering. Darling, honey, sunshine. Baby. Any sweet pet name Louis could think of on the spot, really. It was never _Harry_.

Harry notices. Of course he does. The dimple is gone.

Louis refuses to feel bad about it. It is what it is. Harry is not his _baby_ anymore. He’s Harry, Louis’ ex-boyfriend and acquaintance — and even that’s being optimistic. As soon as they both get on with the program, the best are their chances of actually making through this.

The second time it happens is when Niall goes to the loo.

The chair besides Louis is empty for a couple minutes before he feels a shiver run down his spine. It’s not hard to guess who has taken Niall’s place. Still, Louis turns to check, because just _what the fuck is happening right now?_

The resolute expression is back on Harry’s face, this time admittedly more prudent, but still there. He licks his lips, like he’s about to say something and Louis panics. “What are you doing, Harry?” He blurts out before Harry has a chance to say anything.

That seems to distract him from whatever he was going to say. “ _Harry_ ,” he mocks, his tone venomous. “What’s up with _that_?”

Louis appreciates his effort to sound indignant, but his slurred words only make him seem like a spoiled brat. His drunken pout doesn’t help either.

“It’s your name, innit?” Louis asks. He knows he sounds condescending, but Harry can’t be serious right now.

“That never seemed to bother you before.”

Louis lets out an incredulous chuckle. “What would you rather I call you, then? Baby cakes?” The pet name burns in his throat. It hurts to acknowledge out loud, this rotten thing between them. “It seems a bit outdated, if you ask me.”

Harry bristles. “Guess you’re finally done pretending this is amicable, huh?”

That’s a callout if Louis has ever heard one. “Just,” Louis inhales shakily. “What are you doing right now?” He asks again. “What exactly is this, Harry?”

See? Louis can call Harry out on his bullshit too.

His words have their desired effect and Harry deflates considerably. “I don’t know,” he answers in a much more subdued tone. To Louis’ surprise, Harry then releases a self-deprecating laugh. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He finishes his drink in one go, already getting up. “But it’s obvious it’s not working.”

As he watches Harry walk away, Louis thinks back on everything that’s happened tonight. Is he missing something? He doesn’t like to think of himself as oblivious, but maybe he’s misread the situation somehow, because it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense that Harry would expect more than offhand politeness between them. It doesn’t add up that he still thinks they’re on pet name basis.

Louis goes from bewilderment to exasperation in a matter of seconds. What is the big picture Harry’s seeing, here? They broke up and didn’t talk to each other for a year. Hell, they hadn’t even seen each other in all that time. Louis had been avoiding Harry like a plague and he’d just assumed Harry had been doing the same. What, in this scenario, could possibly indicate that they were anywhere _near_ pet name basis?

“I’m guessing that didn’t go well,” Zayn’s voice startles him out of his reverie.

“I…” Louis shakes his head. “I don’t understand him.”

Zayn sits down next to him and, really, Niall’s chair has a high turnover rate.

“If you can’t understand Harry, I’m not sure who can,” Zayn declares tentatively.

“Probably someone who knows what he’s been up to in the past year,” Louis snaps. “What is it with you people? It’s like I’m the only one who remembers we _broke up_. I don’t know shit about him anymore. He could’ve joined the Conservative Party for all I know.”

Zayn is unimpressed. “Really?”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s my point.”

None of them says anything for a while and Louis wishes he’d ordered something stronger than beer the last time he visited the bar.

“I mean, it _was_ weird when he bought you a drink.”

Finally, someone is making sense. “Right?! What the hell was that?”

“Maybe it’ll take some getting used to, you know? Some time until you guys find your footing again?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Louis sighs. “I wish I could just skip to the part where I know where we stand.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Zayn starts cautiously, the alcohol making his accent thicker. “Have you thought about talking to him? Not right now, ‘cause everyone’s smashed, but.” He makes a noncommittal gesture. “Tomorrow? Next week?”

Louis thinks it over and the idea doesn’t appeal to him at all. Nevertheless, he knows Zayn’s right. “Try next month,” he jokes.

“I mean, I guess it could be worse,” Zayn ponders.

Louis looks at him questioningly.

“He could be acting like an asshole. Instead, he’s paying for your beer and pouting a lot.”

He laughs, because he knows that’s what Zayn expects him to do, but the truth is that Louis can’t allow himself to see it like that. Because if Harry isn’t the wrong one in this situation, then that means _Louis_ is the asshole.

Feeling unsettled, Louis gets up. “Alright, I’m just gonna,” he points to his empty glass. “I believe I’ve earned something stronger.”

Turns out Louis doesn’t have time to finish his Moscow Mule before Harry decides to screw things up for the third and final time.

There are only a few of them remaining. Most of Niall’s coworkers had already left a couple hours ago, resulting in their big group of three tables being reduced to one slightly overcrowded one. The atmosphere is relaxed, lead by Niall’s booming laughter and Zayn’s hilariously acid commentaries.

In the last twenty minutes, the topics of discussion had ranged from Oreo flavors to worst childhood memories.

“My favorite toy as a child was Ruth’s dollhouse,” Liam offers, prompting a new round of laughter. “What? It’s true! She had all these itty-bitty furniture, it was amazing!”

“Mine was Greg’s Nintendo,” Niall says, left arm comfortably thrown over Shawn’s shoulder. “Street Fighter used to be my shit.”

“Is that a pattern?” Shawn laughs. “Did everyone just steal their older sibling’s toys?”

Amidst snickers, Zayn says, “You know what I’d always wanted? One of those bikes that had spoke lights. Those were sick, man.”

There’s a general chorus of agreement from the table. Louis opens his mouth to speak, but Harry beats him to the punch.

“Louis used to have one of those!” He exclaims excitedly. “Didn’t you, Lou?”

Louis feels like he’s been suddenly submerged in ice cold water. _What the fuck_.

There’s white noise ringing in his ears and his mind goes blank for a moment. Maybe he’d imagined it. In all honesty, he’s drunk enough now for his brain to start playing Harry related tricks on him. He should know — it’s happened often enough.

It doesn’t feel like it, though.

In Louis’ daydreams, Harry tells him he still loves him. When Louis is having one of his bad days, he imagines Harry saying that he hates him. Never once, however, did he envision Harry acting as if nothing had happened.

And it _stings_. He’s aware this is just the corrosive misery in his veins speaking, but it’s like Harry has purposefully chosen the worst possible course of action. The first time it had happened tonight — even the second time — Louis had given him the benefit of the doubt. He’d told himself that it was a slip, a mistake Harry had made out of carelessness and trepidation. But it’s hard to remain lenient when he insists on knocking Louis off his feet.

And _why_? Why is Harry acting like this? Maybe Louis is being the unreasonable one, but he thinks it’s bad enough that they have to sit in the same room and pretend they were never meant to be. It’s already more than cruel that, when trying to find a place to fit among the crowd, he has to wonder if it’s far enough from Harry not to hurt. He has to overthink every time he opens his mouth, because he’s still not sure if it’s _Harry’s_ Louis or _single_ Louis speaking, even after all this time.

It’s already hard enough. He can’t — No, he _won’t_ — agree to play the part Harry wants him to play. He refuses to play the cool ex-boyfriend that easily gets over a breakup. The one that makes jokes and laughs about it at a bar table. That’s not him. His heart can’t take it.

His body seems to be moving on its own when he abruptly pushes his chair back, gets up and leaves. In his haste to _disappear_ , he doesn’t register Niall’s answer to Harry, nor does he notice Zayn trying to reach out to him, to offer him some comfort. He needs some air. He needs to breathe and there’s no fucking air inside of this pub.

He doesn’t feel it when he slams into strangers, trying to find the exit. His body is numb to the drinks that accidentally spill on him as he frantically pushes aside anyone that stands in his way. He finally lets out a sigh of relief when he steps outside and his face is hit with the cold night air.

Louis still can’t think back on what happened inside — he knows as soon as he does, he’s going to be ashamed of himself for overreacting — but the quietness he finds once he’s alone helps to ease the tight grip on his chest. Unable to stand still, he decides to walk back to his car, anxiously searching his pockets for a smoke and his lighter.

Tonight was a bad idea. He’d _known_ it was a bad idea and he’d still decided to come. He wishes he could go back in time and knock himself out before he’d left his flat.

He’s just managed to light his cigarette when he hears someone approaching. He doesn’t even have to turn around and check who it is. He knows. He feels it. And the fact that Harry has the guts to come out here after everything that’s happened—

Louis is furious.

He drops his cigarette and takes heavy steps until they’re face to face.

“What the fuck was that?” Louis spits, angrily pushing at Harry’s shoulders. “What the _fuck_ are you thinking?”

“Lou,” Harry starts, attempting to grab his hands and stop him.

“Don’t call me that!” Louis howls, stepping away. “You have _no_ right.”

Harry leans back, as if Louis has physically hit him again. “What do you mean I have no—” he shakes his head, incredulous. “Why are you so _angry_?”

“Are you serious?!” Louis doesn’t think Harry realizes what a thin line he’s walking here. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes!” Harry throws his hands up in frustration. “I don’t understand you! What do you want from me, Louis?!”

Louis’ eyes might pop out of his head in disbelief. Just as he’s about to answer, though, he notices a group of girls who have just stumbled out of the pub. One of them is looking at him funny while the other two whisper something to each other and break into giggles.

Right. They’re in public. Pretty much in the middle of the street, actually.

The realization stifles him into silence. The sound of his own ragged breath is all he hears while he waits for the girls to move on from the entertaining scene they’ve found.

When they finally leave, Louis wastes no time hissing, “Do you honestly think there’s nothing wrong with what you were doing back in there, Harry?”

In his defense, Harry also seems to have taken note of their previous audience, toning his voice down a notch. “I don’t see what it’s so wrong about me acting like I don’t hate you.” He has this look on his face — this annoying, higher-than-thou expression. Louis hates it. He wants to punch it off Harry’s face. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in a long time and I’ve _missed_ you. I don’t hate you!”

Louis is glad that he feels outraged enough not to dwell on _that_. “That’s not the point, Harry. You can’t just build whatever story you want in your head and expect me to play the part!”

“So I’m making stuff up?” Harry’s temper rises again. “I’m delusional, is that what you’re saying? Because I could’ve sworn that, when _this_ ended, we’d _both_ agreed to it.” His tone grows higher with every word he speaks. “You’re acting like I’m the one who broke your heart, Louis!”

Louis gasps. The truthfulness of that statement acts like a whip, slicing Louis’ conviction apart and echoing in his ears.

He wants to answer, “ _You didn’t break my heart. You ripped it right out of my chest and took it with you when you walked out the door._ ” Having been forced to face Harry’s blunt honesty, however, there’s a new voice in his head accusing, “ _You showed him the way out._ ”

It’s as if the last year had been a movie he’d watched in reverse; one that tells a completely different story when told from the other side.

“Do you have any idea how many times I thought about texting you?” Harry asks, completely oblivious to Louis’ reality crumbling around them. “When Liam threw his birthday party, I worried myself sick about what I was going to say to you, but you weren’t even there _._ You were _never_ there.”

“I didn’t want to see you,” Louis chokes out.

Harry chuckles bitterly. “And all I wanted was to see you.”

For the first time tonight, Louis allows himself to really look at Harry. His hair is shorter than the last time they’ve seen each other and he seems to have lost some weight. The circles around his eyes have gotten deeper and his clothes look, for lack of a better word, dull. Whereas before he wouldn’t be caught wearing anything less than noticeable, for Niall’s farewell party Harry has chosen to go with a simple Kings Of Leon hoodie and jeans.

He looks tired. Older. Sadder.

“You always had an excuse not to go,” Harry’s words brings him back to their conversation. “It was either ‘ _Louis has gone to Doncaster for the weekend_ ’, or ‘ _he had to stay home grading papers_ ’.” His voice takes a sarcastic edge to it. “As if you’ve ever missed a party because of that. You could’ve said something. I can take a hint, you know?”

 _You really can’t_ , Louis thinks to himself, but that hardly matters right now.

He’d known that tonight would change everything — deep in his bones, Louis had felt the heart-stirring thrill that usually meant something big was about to happen — but he never imagined he’d end the night feeling so repentant.

It’s difficult to conciliate what he’d perceived as truth and the disquieting awareness that has hit him in the last ten minutes. The reality — and it’s a bitter pill to swallow — is that they _both_ had been too weak to fight for what they had.

“It’s…” Louis licks his lips, searching for the best way to explain his actions. “It’s ironic that Niall is moving.”

Harry looks at him like he thinks Louis has completely lost it.

“I mean,” Louis takes a deep breath. “When you left, I came up with a list of places I’d have to avoid from that day on. The more I thought about it, the longer the list got. The grocery store around the corner, the italian restaurant we went for your birthday.” He feels the hot prickle starting up behind his eyelids, but he pushes on. “That park we’d go on Sundays sometimes. The theatre. Niall’s place. Liam’s place, Zayn’s place,” he finishes with a humorless, breathless chuckle.

He feels choked up. He didn’t think he’d ever have to voice these fears out loud, but he needs Harry to understand.

For his part, Harry seems nonplussed. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pinched in a frown. Louis congratulates himself for knowing exactly what Harry is going to say when he opens his mouth.

“I know,” Louis assures before he can even start. “I know you’re gonna say that I didn’t have to. I know that, H, but,” he inhales shakily, “I couldn’t see you. It doesn’t matter how nice we were to each other till the very end, it _hurt_ ,” his voice breaks on the last word. “I was always one heartbeat away from missing you again, and to have you so close but still out of reach, it— It would’ve killed me.”  _Kind of like what’s happening right now_. “I thought about moving — to a different city, a different state. I even considered applying for a position in Dublin once. That’s why it’s ironic, the whole Niall thing,” he gives Harry a vague gesture and a dead smile.

His confession leaves the air around them feeling thick. The look they share is filled with hopelessness, because there’s not much they can say to each other. What do you do when your favorite person makes you so anxious you can’t breathe? How do you rebuild the bridges, when they’ve been burned beyond repair?

“When did we become this,” Harry’s misery as he searches for words is palpable. “This broken thing?” He asks, his shoulders dropping despondently. “I was so sure we were stronger than this. We were friends before everything. Why is it so hard now?”

Louis’ instinct is to comfort him — his number one priority for half a decade had been Harry’s well-being and it’s hard to turn it off — but he thinks they’d both benefit from some candor. “Were we really, though? Just friends?” He lets out a soft snort. “Looking back now, I don’t think we were. I think that’s why it feels so unbearable now.”

“Maybe, but,” Harry shakes his head, dismayed. “We were more than a couple, y’know? Lou, you were my best friend. You still are. I’m not going to give up that easily.” The stubborn pout is back on his face.

This conversation is breaking Louis’ heart all over again. He wishes it were that simple.

“H, I think…” He takes a deep breath. “I think this whole mess is my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry’s impatience is getting the best of him. “This is not a matter of who’s to blame. You had the right to feel—”

Why is Harry being so fucking _understanding_? It makes Louis want to cry.

“Harry, we can’t be friends, don’t you get it? I’m not over you.” His chin is quivering, but now that he’s started he’s going through with it. “I’ve been blaming you in my head this whole time.” He sniffs. “And the worst part is that I didn’t even notice it until tonight.”

Harry opens his mouth to object but no sound comes out. Louis is grateful. He needs to say this.

“I think a part of me has always hated the idea of the breakup and, instead of facing the remorse, I ended up just,” he gives a forlorn shrug. “Passing the blame.”

Louis feels drained. It’s terrifying to put all his cards on the table, especially after holding them really close to his chest for so long — but this is Harry. Regardless of what’s happened between them, no matter the lies he told himself, he’ll always trust Harry with his heart.

“I’m so— I might be too drunk for this conversation,” Harry runs his hands over his face. “I’ve spent months thinking about this and now I can’t— I can’t wrap my mind around it. What are you saying, Louis?”

That’s a great question. Louis is not sure himself. He bites his bottom lip, considering his next words carefully. Maybe it’s best if they address the main issue, once and for all. “Did you ever think that it was a mistake? Ending things?”

Harry’s jaw locks and his eyes turn cautious. “There’s no turning back if we go down this road.”

“I know.” Louis’ eyes are burning something fierce, but he stands his ground. “I still wanna know the answer. Did you?”

“Yes,” Harry doesn’t hesitate.

Louis chokes out an incredulous huff. “Really? That simple?”

“You were the one who asked,” Harry accuses, frowning.

Louis keeps fucking this up. “I know, I’m sorry.” He swallows, centering himself. “You caught me off guard, that’s all. Sorry.”

“It’s not a matter of—” Harry doesn’t finish. He shakes his head, obviously bothered. “It wasn’t _simple_. It took me a long time to come to terms with it. When you didn’t show up for Liam’s birthday, it felt like a punch in the gut. After that day, every time you missed something I felt like trash. I knew you were only avoiding _me_.” Harry’s voice sounds coarse. “The day we met Shawn, I overheard him asking Niall where were you. He was looking forward to meet you and you were supposed to be there, Lou.” Harry’s eyes find Louis’ and in this moment they’re both vulnerably raw. He knows where Harry’s going with this. “You were supposed to be there, by my side.”

Louis lets out a whimper. His chest is on fire at the thought of Harry missing him just as much as he’d missed Harry.

“That’s when I knew,” Harry concludes. “It wouldn’t hurt that much if it’d been the right decision.”

“What about the flat?” Louis asks, desperate.

“What about it?”

“The fact that we missed each other doesn’t erase the reasons we decided to end it, Haz.” Louis points out rather miserably. “I’m sure you still want a bigger place. You still want kids.” He can’t look Harry in the eyes. “I haven’t changed my mind about not being ready for it. I wish I felt differently, but I don’t.” Louis brings his hands to cover his eyes, helpless. “We’re still out of sync.”

He hears steps approaching him, followed by Harry’s fingers gently pulling his hands away from his face. “It doesn’t mean we couldn’t have tried harder.”

“Isn’t it worse to think like that?” Louis challenges. “That means we both suffered for nothing. We were miserable for a year out of sheer stupidity.”

Harry is still holding Louis’ hands. He chooses that moment to bring them closer to his chest, pressing Louis’ fingers against the soft cotton of his hoodie. He starts to say something when their bubble is burst by Zayn’s voice.

“Um, guys? Is everything... okay? You both have been out here for a long time.”

Louis can see his friend over Harry’s shoulder, standing by the pub’s exit and looking worried.

He clears his throat before answering, “It’s fine, Z.” His voice sounds choked up even to his own ears. “We’re just talking.”

Harry gently squeezes Louis’ fingers, seemingly reaching a decision. “Zayn, would you mind telling Niall that we left?”

Louis raises both eyebrows, surprised. Zayn is also baffled, if his answer is anything to go by. “ _Together_?”

“Not like _that_ , Malik,” Harry’s answer is impatient. “We have a lot of stuff to talk about and it’s cold as fuck out here.”

Louis’ fight or flight instinct is appeased. That actually doesn’t sound too bad.

When Zayn looks at him questioningly, Louis nods.

“Alright, if you say so…” Zayn backs down. “I better get a text from one of you tomorrow,” he warns before heading back inside. “Good night!”

They’re alone again and Louis snorts, amused. It gets awkward quickly, though, when both he and Harry notice that they’re still essentially holding hands.

Louis tries not to let it bother him when Harry lets go abruptly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” Louis has been repeating that a lot lately. He takes a step back, putting some distance between them so he can breathe easier.

“So...” Harry lingers. “How are we gonna do this?”

“I don’t know,” Louis sighs, putting both hands inside the pockets of his jacket. “Maybe we should get back to this in the morning? I feel like I can barely think anymore.”

“Yeah. It’ll probably be best if we’re sober for this.”

 _As if._  “We both know that doing this without alcohol will be hell,” Louis says good-naturedly.

Harry chuckles, noticeably tired. “I’m just glad we’re doing this at all.”

Louis is thankful that they’re still being honest with each other, because that means he can say, “Would it be too weird if you came over? To my place, I mean.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to look astonished. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Louis presses his lips together, regretful. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t freak out and disappear tomorrow,” he admits. “This would be a way of preventing that.” _At least the disappearing part. Can’t make any promises about the freak out_. “Besides, it’s already past four in the morning. It’s not like we’re getting a lot of sleep anyway.”

Harry seems doubtful. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Louis is not sure of anything. Not one damn thing. “Honestly, it’ll be awkward any way we choose to do this. It’ll just be easier if we’re already,” he makes a vague gesture with his hand. “In the same place or whatever.”

Harry considers this for a moment. “Okay,” he concedes. “If you say so.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” There it is, that word again. It’s starting to lose its meaning. “Did you drive here or…”

Harry gives him an apologetic look. “No, sorry. Uber.”

 _Great, confined together in a small space. Just_ great _._

“C’mon, my car is just over there,” Louis tilts his chin in the direction he’d parked.

Despite his initial concern, the drive to Louis’ flat is uneventful. They’re both too drained to make things awkward. Louis doesn’t even have it in him to feel bad about how messy his car is at the moment.

The ride in the elevator, however, is painfully uncomfortable. Not even their exhaustion is enough to mask how familiar and _un_ familiar it is to watch Harry pressing the button for the fifth floor.

“Do you mind sleeping on the couch?” Louis asks as soon as they walk through the door. “I’d offer you the bed, but I think that’d just make this weirder.”

“No, you’re right,” Harry yawns. “I’ll take the couch, no problem.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be right back with some blankets.”

Once in his bedroom, Louis searches the storage closet for a freshly washed blanket. It might be this whole night making him crazy, but he doesn’t want Harry to have to sleep with the smell of him.

For a long time after the breakup, Louis had had a love-hate relationship with Harry’s smell. He’d alternated between nights spent curled up with Harry’s old jumper and days when he’d take two, even three showers, attempting to get rid of any trace of him.  

Louis doesn’t want Harry to have no choice, neither does he want to spend hours wondering which side of the equation Harry is on — love or hate.  

Luckily, he spots the duvet Lottie had used the last time she’s stayed over. That’ll do. He grabs said duvet and one of the extra pillows and heads back to the living room.

“Here you go,” he hands both to Harry. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Harry nods, solemn.

“Alright,” Louis rubs his hands together anxiously. “Good night, then.”

Harry’s voice is soft when he replies, “Good night.”

Louis is almost in the hallway when he hears Harry calling out to him. “Lou.”

 _Goddammit_.

“Yeah?” Louis turns back around.

“Thank you. For inviting me and,” Harry pulls on the duvet. “All this. I know it’s not easy.”

Louis swallows. He only needs to keep it together for a few more seconds. “You’re welcome, Harry. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

It’s with great relief that he _finally_ closes his bedroom door, leaning against it. He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and trying to slow down his erratic heartbeat.

_What are we doing?_

🚫

Louis doesn’t sleep. He tosses and turns for three hours before giving up. It’s useless to stay in bed — every time he lets his guard down and tries to turn off his brain, he’s assaulted by memories of what it’s been said in the last few hours — so he decides to take a shower.

The hot water helps relax his stiff muscles as he tries to envision where he and Harry will go from here.  

Louis is not unaware of everything that’s been confessed. It’s well-established by now that both of them recognize their breakup wasn’t the right decision. Still, Louis’ uncertainty from last night remains. They’d ended things because they couldn’t find a way to fit into each other’s futures anymore. Harry had said that they could’ve tried harder, but what does that even mean?

Harry wants a white picket fence. He wants a big family kitchen and kids running around the lawn. He wants school plays and thematic birthday parties. He’s always the first to volunteer when anyone needs a babysitter and the last to leave when someone brings their young niece to dinner parties. Harry wants _more_.

Louis plans on starting his doctorate next year. He gets home at seven in the evening and barely has enough energy to eat and shower before passing out. Just last month, Louis had forgotten to water his plants for two weeks. Louis can’t deal with anything _more_ than what he already does at the moment.

So, how does _trying harder_ fix this? Do they _try harder_ to ignore their own wishes and ambitions to pacify each other? Do they _try harder_ not to resent one another for not being on the same page? Louis can’t think of anything he wants more than to repair their relationship, but he can’t see how _trying harder_ would work in the long run.

These sobering thoughts wander in Louis’ mind as he gathers enough courage to leave his bedroom. He’d been the one who’d asked Harry to stay the night — precisely because Louis himself had known how much he was gonna dread this conversation. Now it’s time to face the music.

Or rather, the _silence_.

If Louis hadn’t spent the last couple hours losing his shit over the visitor in the living room, the complete lack of noise would convince him it had all been an hallucination.

He expects to find Harry sleeping on the couch, but he’s met with the sight of him very awake. So awake, in fact, that it looks like Harry hasn’t even unfolded the duvet. He’s standing in front of the window, facing outside with both hands inside the pocket of his hoodie. He turns around when he hears Louis entering the room.

“I’d forgotten how quiet this neighborhood is,” is the first thing he says, a timid smile on his face.

“Yeah, it’s, uh,” Louis answers, distracted. He looks skeptically at the spotless couch — pillow and duvet untouched.  “It’s nice. Did you sleep at all?”

Harry lets out a quiet laugh. “Not really. My mind was kinda,” he shrugs, like that explains it. “I thought about making breakfast, but I wasn’t sure I was allowed to do that anymore.”

Louis feels slightly nauseated at the mention of food. “I think we should stick with some tea, for now. I mean, unless you’re hungry—”

“No,” Harry interrupts. “No, it’s fine. Tea is great.”

If they actually manage to get through this, Louis is abolishing the word _fine_ from their vocabulary.

“Do you still take it with no sugar? A splash of m—” he stops in his tracks. “Oh. I’m sorry, Harry. I just realized I don’t have any milk.”

Harry raises both eyebrows in bemusement. “Oh, I can’t take it black. Don’t worry, it’s—”

“Don’t say fine,” Louis warns. “Please, I can’t stand that word anymore.”

Harry seems startled. It’s not long before his eyebrows furrow in determination, though. “Louis,” his tone makes every hair in Louis’ body stand up to attention. “Can we talk now? This is stupid.”

Louis bites his bottom lip. There’s only a breakfast bar separating the living room from the kitchen and he chooses to ignore Harry’s plea, picking up the kettle sitting on the stove and taking it to the tap.

“I meant what I said last night,” Harry continues, still standing by the couch.

Louis wants to ask him to specify. A lot was said last night.

Putting the filled kettle back on the left burner, his back to Harry, Louis bites the bullet. “Tell me how we could make it work.”

His request is met with silence.

“I’m genuinely asking, H,” Louis turns back around to face him. “I keep coming up empty and I don’t want to give up on us. I never wanted to. So, please, help me out here. Give me something. Anything.”

“I love you,” is Harry’s answer. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s all I’ve got.” He looks so apologetic. “I have no idea how to fix it. I just know I haven’t stopped loving you once.”

Silence. Suffocating, loaded, all-consuming _silence_.

Louis is sure Harry can hear how shaky his breath sounds when he inhales. “Harry, that’s…” He pinches his own thigh through the fabric of his sweats, just so he can concentrate on something else besides what’s being said. “Me too.” He chokes out, incapable of stopping himself. His heart has been holding on to Harry for so long that it’s bursting at the seams with the words. “I still love you, too. But that was never the problem.”

Harry crosses the distance between them, stopping a couple steps away from Louis. “I think that was always the solution, actually.”

“No, Harry,” Louis shakes his head, defeated. “Don’t do that.”

“Hey, no. Listen to me.” Harry pleads. “I think we needed it. This time apart, the hurting, all of it. This is not me trying to find the silver lining. I really mean it.”

He reaches out to take Louis’ hand, achingly tentative. Louis squeezes his hand hard in return. He wants Harry to know that he’s trying. He’s well aware that he’s the one putting up all the obstacles here, but that’s not because he doesn’t want it to work — it’s just hard to make his pessimistic brain shut up.

“If we had put on brave faces and gone on like that, we would’ve ended up resenting each other. I think we both agree on that.”

Louis nods. “Yes.”

“So, it wasn’t all for nothing.” Harry declares, taking the final steps until he’s right in front of Louis. “That was how it was supposed to be for a while. We had to know. We tried it, and it _sucked_.” Louis snorts softly. He leans forward until his forehead meets Harry’s right shoulder. “Now it’s time we try something else, don’t you think? A dog, maybe.” Harry jokes.

Louis looks up at him. He’d missed seeing Harry’s dimple from up close. “How about a fish first? Baby steps and all that.”

Harry’s free hand finds its way up to Louis’ hair, pulling him closer to press a gentle kiss against his temple. “That works, too.”

Louis closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He’s still not sure this is real.

It’s not perfect, and it’s not a _solution_ , but Louis doesn’t think they’re gonna get one. At least not the one he was searching for, anyway. The truth is, it’s not one quick fix that’s gonna make or break them. It’s going to be the little, everyday stuff. Daily compromises that will build a future that works for both of them. It’s going to be Louis considering to work less hours and Harry trying to find fulfillment in taking care of a plant; a fish; a dog — at least for now. It’ll be sharing every decision and empathizing with each other’s frustrations.

And it seems less scary, when Louis thinks of it that way. A magical solution would’ve been easier, sure, but it also would mean higher stakes. One mistake and it’s over. With day-to-day compromises he can allow himself to have a bad day, to be stubborn once in a while — because he knows Harry will have those kind of days too and they’ll work it out.

Feeling lighter than he has in months, Louis brings both arms around Harry’s waist, hugging him tight. “We’re gonna make it.” And he means it. If there’s someone worth compromising for, it’s Harry.  

Harry answers by wrapping his own arms around Louis’ shoulders. “I've missed you so much,” he confesses against Louis’ hair. “I can say that now, right?” The laugh he lets out is still subdued. “This is gonna sounds stupid, but I swear I could feel my bones aching from missing you.” Louis buries his face into the soft fabric of Harry’s hoodie. This is a lot. “I have a million things to tell you.”

“I wanna hear all of them,” Louis replies, mouth still pressed against Harry’s chest.

His heart goes into overdrive at the thought of them relearning things about each other. For so long, Louis had no choice but to wonder if Harry had liked a certain movie; if he’d finished the collage of childhood pics he was putting together for Gemma’s birthday; if he was as disappointed as Louis by his favorite band’s new record. Louis wants to hear Harry’s opinion about the subject of his research; wants to cook him this Thai dish he’d learned, just to watch Harry’s face light up. He wants to know the big things and the little things. He wants to _share_ the big things and the little things — because he’d spent months keeping them all to himself and it almost drove him crazy. Louis wants everything.

“Let’s talk over breakfast,” Louis proposes. “I wanna go to that coffee house near Liam’s. It’s been a while since I went there.”

Harry pulls back slightly, one of his hands finding Louis’ jaw. The way his thumb caresses Louis’ chin makes it clear that he understands _why_ Louis had avoided the place. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay,” Louis finally steps away completely. “Lemme just put on some clothes and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Um, Lou?” Harry sounds sheepish. “Would you mind if I took a shower? It’s just that we came straight from the pub yesterday and—”

“Oh, fuck. Of course!” Louis is an idiot. “Of course you can take a shower. The towels are still in the same cabinet. You know where to find them.”

“Alright,” Harry gives him a small smile. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Harry has already headed towards the bathroom when a thought strikes Louis.

“Haz!” He calls out. “Wait a sec!”

He runs to the bedroom, opening the closet and searching the bottom of it for a lilac jumper he knows for a fact it’s there.   

“Hazza!” he calls out again, taking quick steps, jumper in hand.

The door is still open when Harry finally listens. “Yeah?” He asks, eyebrows frowned in confusion.

“Sorry,” Louis heaves, slightly out of breath. “I just thought that you’d like to change your top, at least,” he explains himself, feeling awkward while Harry gapes at the piece of clothing in question. “I guess it’s lucky that you left it here, right?”

Harry reaches out slowly to take the jumper. “I can’t believe it was here the whole time,” he mumbles.

Louis bites him bottom lip, mulling over his next words. “It’s not,” he clears his throat. “It’s not exactly clean. Sorry.”

Harry finally looks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I, uh,” Louis will never understand why he’s always prone to make a fool of himself in front of Harry. “I might have used it? A couple times? And like, not washed it, maybe?”

He doesn’t think he has to embarrass himself even further and explain _why_ he hasn’t washed it.

Harry looks at him without blinking for a long moment — during which Louis regrets every decision he’s ever made. Why did he even open his mouth? Things were good. They were gonna have breakfast. They had hugged and it hadn't been awkward at all. Why did he—

Louis doesn’t have time to dwell on it any longer before Harry pulls him forward by his neck and kisses him.

Maybe Louis should be self-conscious about the sigh of relief he lets out in Harry’s mouth as soon as they touch lips, but the truth of the matter is that it feels like he’d been underwater for a year — unable to breathe, barely seeing through the motions — and Harry had just cut the ropes pulling him under.

“I’m so glad I ran into you last night,” Harry whispers against his lips, now with both hands holding on Louis’ neck. “So glad I bought you that stupid drink that made you furious.”

Louis laughs, amused. “I still can’t believe you did that.” He bumps his nose against Harry’s chin lightly. “Who does that?”

Harry is unapologetic. “It worked,” he shrugs, leaning forward to kiss Louis one more time.

_It sure did._

🚫

It’s a month later when it happens again.

Louis is in London and Niall’s housewarming party is _crowded_. He’s trying to get to the (very fancy, newly installed) kitchen, but it’s hard to walk even a feet without knocking elbows with someone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, working his way through a very excited group of people. “Excuse me. _Sorry_.”

Zayn is leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, obviously amused by Louis’ suffering. “Happy to see you made it alive to the other side.”

“Who _are_ these people?” Louis grunts. “Does Niall even know half of them?”

“It sure looks like it,” Zayn tilts his chin to indicate the intertwined mess of bodies dancing in the middle of the room. Niall has a bottle on one hand, while his other arm is wrapped around Shawn’s waist from behind. Shawn, on the other hand, has both his arms wrapped around a heavily tattooed blonde girl. The three of them seem to be having the time of their lives, if the smiles on their faces are anything to go by.

Louis snorts. “I don’t even wanna know.”

Both him and Zayn enter the kitchen, looking for something to fill their cups with.

“This party makes me feel like we’re back in uni,” Zayn laughs.

“Oh, c’mon, Z. No one’s too old to drink,” Louis grabs one of the bottles laying on the sink to read its label. “Gordon’s.”

“Speak for yourself, mate. I’m sticking with beer for now.”

Louis doesn’t feel like rejoining the crowd in the living room just yet, so he asks Zayn if he’s up for a smoke break.

“Are you nervous?” Zayn’s eyes glisten with amusement. “Is that why you need a smoke?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis says around a cigarette, patting his pockets for his lighter.

Zayn hums. “‘Mhm. And this has nothing to do with someone who should be here already, but it’s running late?”

 _Goddammit._ “He said he was gonna be here half an hour ago.”

Despite talking to each other daily, Louis hadn’t seen Harry in four days. The last time had been on Wednesday, when they had agreed to have lunch together. That had also been the day Harry had tricked Louis into spending his lunch break on a dog adoption fair.

Needless to say, Harry’s machiavellian antics had worked. They are now the proud owners of a cute little Beagle named Nikki.

They are taking it slow — or as slow as they are capable of, anyway. Harry still has his own flat and Louis hasn’t told his family they’re back together yet, but they’ve already adopted a puppy and Louis slept at Harry’s place three nights in a row last week.

So, _slow_ , but not really.

“Maybe he’s already here,” Zayn says. “Maybe we just couldn’t find him because he’s buried under copious amounts of cheap booze.”

Louis gives him an unimpressed look.

“He’s gonna be here soon, Tommo. Relax.”

“This is horrible,” Louis whines, already down to half of his cigarette. “It’s like I’m sixteen all over again, getting butterflies because I’m gonna see my _boyfriend_.”

“Yeah, well,” Zayn shrugs. “You and Harry have always been stupid for each other.”

He’s so nonchalant about it that Louis feels obligated to retaliate, so he punches Zayn’s arm.

“Why are you punching me?” Zayn cries out. “You know it’s true!”

“Doesn’t mean you should mock me for it!”

“You’re _such_ a big baby when you’re drunk,” Zayn glares at him, rubbing his arm. “Harry is the only one who puts up with shit like that.”

Louis snorts, amused. “Then I guess he better get here soon, yeah?”

Zayn answers by sticking out his tongue.

They don’t take long to go back inside. The night air is cold and their cups run empty soon enough.  Once they step back into the living room, though, it seems like the place has gotten even _more_ crowded.

“Jesus Christ, how does this keep happening?” Zayn looks slightly horrified, doing his best to pass through the people blocking the balcony door. “I’m pretty sure we’re at maximum capacity here.”

Before Louis can answer, someone bumps straight into him.

Not for the first time, Louis’ whole being immediately knows who he has ran into.

Not for the first time, Harry’s only reaction is a soft, “Oh.”

The memory ignites a warm fondness in Louis’ chest, especially when he realizes how far they’ve come from a month ago.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, Styles,” Louis says with an amused smirk, before wrapping both arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to talk about this story, you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.tofiveohfive.tumblr.com)!
> 
>  here's the [post](http://tofiveohfive.tumblr.com/post/183166980799) to this fic, if you wish to support a struggling writer.
> 
> thank you for reading!


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